


It's an Aussie Thing!

by Scrunyuns



Category: Fargo (2014)
Genre: Aussie being an Aussie, Established Relationship, F/M, M/M, OT3, Polyamory, Threesome, no explicit sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-29 14:54:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3900406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrunyuns/pseuds/Scrunyuns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things get lost in translation, even though they're all technically speaking English.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's an Aussie Thing!

**Author's Note:**

> fringeandfur on tumblr helped A LOT with this :-) I'm dedicating this to you, hon! Also, I would be remiss if I didn't give the Fargo/Wrenchers fandom credit for giving birth to Letters and Ham, as well as fleshing out Aussie. You guys are amazing.
> 
> PS: Sorry if any of the Oz slang is off, I'm not a native (I'm just married to one).

Hammer and Letters' quiet conversation is interrupted when Jergen stumbles into the bar, throwing his arms around their shoulders.

"Oi, ya cunts! 'S goin'?"

He is drunk, well past his limit. A true Australian hero.

"What did you just call us?" Hammer hisses. "Apologize to the lady."

Letters chuckles. She knows she's hardly a lady, but she appreciates the gesture regardless. Hammer is a Southern boy, through and through.

"Fuck me dead, Ham, it's an Aussie thing!" Jergen slurs. "You call ya mates cunt, and cunts mate. That's how it is in 'Straya."

Letters rolls her eyes; it's always an Aussie thing. This particular Aussie thing could actually be true, but she knows very well that Jergen is a pathological liar. Sometimes she thinks he might not even be from Australia, his accent is just a little bit _too_  Australian. And the culture down there is so batshit insane, there's no way you can really say for sure whether or not he's telling the truth.

"Yeah, well," she says, "you're in America now. And in America, 'cunt' is what you're called when you won't give some sweaty old creep a free lapdance."

"Exactly," Hammer chimes in.

"Alright, alright, I'm sorry," Jergen says, putting his hands up in defeat. "You're a lady, he's a gentleman, _I'm_ a cunt."

He slams his palm on the bar.

"So, whose donger do I need to slobber on to get pissed around here? I'm drier than a nun's left tit."

\---

Whenever an Aussie thing sounds a bit off, Letters simply googles it. She has recently found that Dame Edna is _not_ , in fact, the governor-general, roasted wombat is not a national delicacy, the national anthem is not Waltzing Matilda, box jellyfish are not the #1 pet, and nowhere are sheep accepted as currency (no, not even in the Northern Territory).

Hammer, however, is technologically impaired and swallows all the bullshit Jergen feeds him.

His account of a run-in with one of the mythical beasts known as drop bears is such a masterful lie, Letters can't help but admire Jergen for his acting chops.

"They're like koalas, but just... so much worse," Jergen explains with a haunted look on his face. "I will never forget those eyes. Frightful red orbs gleaming in the darkness... It sank its vicious little teeth into my arm, right here," he says, pointing to a purple, jagged bitemark on his forearm.

 _A shark,_ Letters decides, _and a small one at that._ She's given him lovebites that were bloodier.

As Jergen makes a show of reliving the encounter, visibly shuddering, Hammer stares at the bite. His eyes are transfixed as he traces Jergen's protuding skin with his fingertip.

"I had to get a rabies shot."

"That's it," Hammer says, pounding his fist on the table. "If we ever go down under, I'm taking my gun."

"Too fucking right! How do you think I killed the little fucker?"

 _Bullshit._ Letters can't call very well call herself a bonafide gun nut without having read up on the various gun laws around the world, and Australia's are notoriously strict - that's why she's never been there. That, and all the dangerous animals (drop bears not included).

"I still have nightmares about it," Jergen whispers, biting his bottom lip and making puppy eyes at them. "But maybe the two of you can help me out with that?"

Letters finally lets out the laugh she'd been holding back.

"As if you had to ask."

\---

What baffles Letters the most about Aussie culture is not the slurs, nor the tall tales - it's the godawful vernacular.

She had once gotten a text from him saying 'See you in the arvo' and she had racked her brain for where this arvo place was for about half an hour before another text from him ticked in, saying 'PS: arvo means afternoon.'

Then there's the story about the bogan who always used to wear a budgie smuggler and once left a brown eyed mullet in the local pool, and his missus who wore Southern Cross trackie dacks and looked like Big Lez.

"Oh my god, what language are you speaking!?" Hammer had groaned.

One night they'd been driving around town, and a very inebriated Jergen had thrown a fit because Hammer wouldn't pull over so that he could get some durries and a sparkie from the servo until he "learned how to talk like a fucking normal human being."

Jergen had leaned over to Letters and slurred, "Tell 'im he's dreamin'."

\---

"Get the Astroglide," Hammer orders. "You're up next."

"Nah, yeah," Jergen says, "I'm not here to fuck spiders with matchsticks."

Letters shares a look with Hammer as the Australian rummages around in the drawer of his nightstand. He pulls out the tube and tries to squeeze some of the contents out into his palm, but nothing comes out.

"It's died in the arse," he says, looking forlorn.

"This is your fault," Hammer says, turning to Letters. "You use that stuff like we got a neverending supply."

"What? I just like my titties to be nice and slippery for you." She sucks on her teeth. "Like you don't live for that shit."

Jergen snaps his fingers. "I've got just the thing."

"Not Vegemite again," Hammer groans as Jergen leaps from the bed and heads out the door. "That crap stank to high heaven."

As she lights her cigarette, Letters chuckles at the memory. To be fair, it had been a mistake; in the darkness, Jergen had pulled out the yellow tube in stead of the purple one and the scent of yeast had filled the air, assaulting their nostrils.

"Why do you keep that in your nightstand?!" Hammer had yelled, to which Jergen simply replied,

"Sometimes I like a midnight nibble."

The Australian returns triumphant, a red plastic tube in hand. Hammer lets out a sigh of relief.

"Behold," he says proudly, tears of patriotism glistening at the corners of his eyes. "Lucas' Papaw Ointment. A natural antiseptic, there is no finer concoction in all the land."

He tosses it at Hammer, who snatches it from the air with one hand and starts reading aloud from the back of the tube.

"A topical application for boils, burns, chafing, cuts, cracked skin, blah blah blah... You sure this'll work?"

"Well, it's no Astroglide but it's better than nothing."

Hammer uncrews the cap and sniffs it tentatively.

"Well, it sure smells nice," he says, handing the tube over to Letters. "Smell that."

"Mmm... yeah, I could definitely cover my boobs in that. Unlike Vegemite, harr harr."

"I guess Australia isn't such a bad place after all," Hammer says, and Jergen looks like he's fit to burst with pride for his homeland. "Now get your sweet ass over here so we can try this stuff out."

Jergen grins.

"Gladly."


End file.
